Charlie Parker

Alto Saxophone · born 29 August 1920 died 12 March 1955

Click for Richard Cook Bio

If any one individual personifies a romantic idea of jazz – in his instrumental prowess, creativity and brutal destiny – it is Charles Parker, often called 'Bird' or 'Yardbird', saxophonist, narcotics addict and wayward genius of a music which seemed to almost burn out with him. Parker was born in Kansas City and left school at 15, already determined to become a full-time musician. He played at jam sessions and in unremarkable local groups until visiting New York in 1939 and staying for something like a year before returning to Kansas City, armed at least with jam-session experience. He then joined Jay McShann's band, with whom he made his first recordings ('Listen to the Bird blow!' recalled McShann, more than 60 years later) and from there he moved on, in late 1942, to Earl Hines's orchestra, and thence to the Billy Eckstine big band. During this period he was one of the participants in the Minton's Playhouse jam sessions which were effectively the crucible of bebop. By the time 1945 was under way, Parker had all the constituent parts of his style in place.

Although Parker did in some ways advance his art as time went on, he shares with many of the other jazz innovators – including Louis Armstrong, Bix Beiderbecke, Ornette Coleman and Albert Ayler – a sense that he quickly understood what he had to say and wasted no time in saying it. He introduced such formal breakthroughs as improvising off the top of the chord sequence of a standard melody (something he repeatedly realized while jamming on Ray Noble's tune Cherokee), but the matter of his musicianship was at once more subtle and more upfront than that. He made everything seem inevitable, even simple, although what he was doing was immensely sophisticated in comparison with most of his contemporaries. While Dizzy Gillespie and Thelonious Monk had toiled towards the formal innovations of bebop during those countless hours of jamming and thinking and talking at Minton's, Parker came along and grasped the verities and played through them at the drop of a proverbial hat. His many hours of practice disguised his facility to a degree, but by the time of his coming out, his saxophone tone had matured and hardened into a fearsomely confrontational sound: even though he was often recorded in less than ideal conditions during his career, it is remarkable how his saxophone sound cuts through even the worst of low fidelity. It is this aspect of his playing, more than any other, which has kept his music alive to a modern audience: a single phrase from Parker's saxophone can erase the passage of decades by virtue of its vivid, seemingly immortal immediacy.

For all his individuality of timbre, though, it is Parker's rhythmic language which is most startling and enduring. Harmonically, he works from a relatively limited base: as with many of the leading boppers, he was content to work mostly from a handful of familiar chord sequences as the model of his 'original' compositions. But his rhythmic imagination seemed limitless. In moving so comprehensively away from the simple four- and eight-bar divisions which tended to be the swing improviser's grammar, he introduced a fabulous complexity which required exceptional resources to master. Melody lines might be compressed, stretched, ornamented or otherwise made new, bursts of notes could be followed by unexpected rests, accents would fall in unlikely places. In some ways, Bird was the ultimate lick-player: the Parker scholar Thomas Owens has identified how he kept something like 100 formulae under his fingertips, phrase-shapes and patterns which he would refer to across the course of an improvisation, each one subject to the continuous variation which is the improviser's prerogative, and defence against predictability.

All this emerges in his body of recorded work, which can almost be divided down the middle, between his studio sessions – in the main, three corpuses of work for the Savoy, Dial and Clef (subsequently Verve) labels – and a huge number of live recordings, which more than doubles the size of his studio legacy. The Savoy and Dial material exists mostly in multiple takes of each tune, revealing further Parker's abilities to vary his approach. The band sessions featured such playing partners as Miles Davis, Max Roach, Dizzy Gillespie, Howard McGhee and Duke Jordan, but Parker's genius dominates every record. The Dial contract arose out of the trip Parker and Gillespie made to the West Coast at the end of 1945: although Gillespie eventually returned East, Parker stayed in Los Angeles. By this time, he had been addicted to heroin for some time, and had developed a gargantuan appetite for excess: drugs and alcohol dominated every day, yet miraculously seemed to have little effect – at this stage – on his capacity to play, which led some to believe that Parker's example was to be followed to achieve the right state to play the music in, a disastrous idea which ruined many lives. Matters came to a head at the notorious record date which produced the tortured Lover Man, after which Parker collapsed. He was confined at Camarillo State Hospital and emerged in 1947, eventually returning to New York, where he formed the quintet with Davis (who in later years had very little good to say about Parker).

Between then and 1951 Parker enjoyed his greatest years of success. He was feted as the master of his idiom, a club was opened in his name (Birdland), he signed to Norman Granz's operation and made records with strings and Latin groups, and he visited Europe in 1949 and 1950. His playing survives in numerous broadcast and unauthorized recordings, including many taken down by an obsessive fan, Dean Benedetti, who haunted backstage areas and recorded Bird on a portable machine (the surviving discs were eventually recovered from the Benedetti family and issued in the 80s in a Mosaic edition). There were new studio encounters with Gillespie and Monk (a memorable date from 1950), and though some felt that Granz tried to prettify Parker's music in the wrong way, few would quibble with much of his playing on the best of the Clef sessions. But his problems with narcotics began to drag him down: his cabaret licence was revoked in 1951, banning him from playing in New York, and he was kept from the city's club scene until late in 1953. There was still wonderful music to come – a celebrated concert at Toronto's Massey Hall in 1953, to cite one occasion – and there are hints in his later work of how he might have addressed the further evolution of his own playing. But debts and an alcohol problem which was probably even worse than his narcotics addiction wore him down. He was committed to Bellevue Hospital in 1954 at his own request following a suicide attempt, and played his final gig in March 1955, dying a few days later at the home of Nica de Koenigswarter. The eventual cause of death was lobar pneumonia, but his bloated body was wrecked in any case: his coffin was so heavy that the pallbearers at his funeral almost dropped it.

The wonder of Parker's music is that it still sounds modern, 50 years after his death. He died before the LP era had got fully under way, and one can only guess at what he might have done with the long form of the album: 'I can definitely say that music won't stop. It will continue to go forward,' he told an interviewer late in his life. For many, the playing in Scrapple From The Apple, Parker's Mood, Now's The Time, Ah-Leu-Cha, Bluebird, Bird Gets The Worm, A Night In Tunisia and so many others is as far forward as jazz music will ever get.

Biography from Richard Cook's Jazz Encyclopedia (2005).

If you'd like more information, check out The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz (2002) or The Biographical Encyclopedia of Jazz (2007), both of which are still in print.